


Things That Go Drip in the Night

by Vaguely_downwards



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-10
Updated: 2021-02-10
Packaged: 2021-03-15 22:07:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 701
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29321388
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vaguely_downwards/pseuds/Vaguely_downwards
Summary: The dripping of a tap keeps Remus awake.Or so he tells himself.Set in September 1996.
Relationships: Remus Lupin/Nymphadora Tonks
Kudos: 16





	Things That Go Drip in the Night

**Author's Note:**

> I had this as a chapter of my Order oneshots 'The Courage of Stars', but it didn't really fit. So I've given it its own thing here.

The drip drip drip of the tap kept Remus up.  
Or so he told himself.  
The noise cut through his dreams before they had had the chance to form, leaving him with half broken images behind his eyes and with each soft drip the images seemed to shift.  
Drip. James, Sirius and Peter, 15, sat on his hospital bed after a full moon - James was telling a story about Thestrals.

Drip. Lily lay on her back in the sunshine, letting it illuminate every strand of her red hair until it glowed like a fiery halo around her. Remus wondered if it had ever really shone that bright. He was startled to find he couldn't quite remember.

Drip. James’ body lay where it fell, blood trickling from the cuts on his face, large chunks missing from the boyish grin. The red oozing spilled onto the stuffed stag he was holding. Remus hadn’t seen James’ body where he died, he had been moved long before anyone thought to tell Remus, and he knew there was no blood. But that didn't stop his stomach collapsing in on itself unpleasantly.

Drip. Sirius laughed loudly, head thrown back so convincingly that the ghosts that glazed his eyes alone belied the tumultuous storm that lay in waiting inches below Sirius’ skin.

Drip. Dora.  
Drip. Dora.  
Drip. Dora.

Dora, No it’s Tonks, call her Tonks, was grinning at him. her eyes were dancing with a mischief he had forgotten how to feel, alive with a love he’d never learnt how to.

She was playing the guitar softly beside him, fingers skating over strings and frets. He watched on, envious, wanting to be the one under those gentle caresses, his heart spread out before her as she picked and plucked at the very essence that made him tick. She had wanted to do that, had wanted to open his chest and rummage through the old spirits she found there, wanted to lounge with the dusty memories and fill the empty chambers within with her light.  
He had nearly let her.

She was lying flat on her back on the drawing room floor, pulling breath after breath in through gritted teeth, holding each one like the drowning man to the life jacket. The shattered mess of her rib cage seemed to creak and groan with each one. Bruising as deep as the richest wine bloomed and blossomed and grew as he watched, spreading itself over broken bones, staining porcelain skin. He starred now as he had then, transfixed on the damage, struck with the idea that she, too, was fallible and fragile. Just like the others.

Her again, reaching out a shaking hand to clasp at his. Taking hold of his weary soul in bandaged fingers, shaking the St Mungos wristband up her arm as she did so, as if she too did not want the reminder that she was mortal to mar the moment. She had held him for hours that day, hours that spread into days, to years, to lifetimes. It hadn’t been enough. In his moments of selfishness, Remus wished she had never let go, though his grief must have been heavy in her weakened hands. In her embrace his thoughts had quietened, screams becoming hushed whispers. That day, and every day before and every day ever after.

It had come back though, the noise. It always did.  
It screeched that he was poison, drowned out any honeyed word until poison was all there was, all he could be. He was sure that one day he’d open his mouth and ,rather than words, a black sludge would erupt forth, vile as cud, and coat everything as physically as he did in the metaphorical.  
And so he drew back. Allowed the wave of venom to push him back behind enemy lines. He turned his eyes away from the glory of hers because all of a sudden the brightness of their glow was scorching, and he couldn't allow her to burn them both.  
But he wanted to.  
Wanted to combust  
Ignite  
Smoulder, char,  
Singe and flare with her.

Drip. Dora.

Drip. Dora.

Drip. Dora.

The drip drip drip of the tap kept Remus up.  
Or so he told himself.


End file.
